


"The Good of Friendship"

by farad



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9056929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: Chris, Ezra, sorting out what they do and how they do it. Warning for painful misuse of whiskey.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A little holiday offering. 
> 
> From a Daybook prompt, "Any, any, there are only two things in life that make it worth living…"

The Good of Friendship

 

“But what is the good of friendship if one cannot say exactly what one means? Anybody can say charming things and try to please and to flatter, but a true friend always says unpleasant things, and does not mind giving pain. Indeed, if he is a really true friend he prefers it, for he knows that then he is doing good.” -Oscar Wilde

 

 

“I don't understand.”

 

Chris drew in a deep breath, as slow and evenly as he could. It had taken in a matter of hours, in that first time they had ended up in bed together, to realize that Ezra did not have any understanding of the difference between friendship and – well, friendship and any other kinds of relationships.

 

Not that he wasn't friends with Ezra. He was. They had a lot in common – books and intellectual ideas, clothes and an appreciation for finer things, even a shared sense of the injustices of the world.

 

But Ezra didn't have experience with people who wanted nothing from you but your companionship. Not sex, but intimacy of a different sort.

 

Chris blamed that – as with so much else – on Maude. And right now, he cursed her with all he was worth - though not out loud; Ezra would defend her with every ounce of his energy, up to the point of banishing Chris from his presence for days. And nights.

 

Chris had found this out the hard way. More than once. And despite the fact that Ezra himself was cursing her and bitching to high heaven. Agreeing with him was the wrong thing to do.

 

But that wasn't the issue at present. The issue at present was that Chris was riding out for a while, to look for a mountain lion.

 

With Vin.

 

He looked at Ezra, holding his gaze. “We're looking for the cat that's been killing the sheep and goats in the area. Vin tracked it to the foot of the mountains, thinks we can find it before it comes back down. Gonna be gone for a couple of days.”

 

Ezra drew in a breath, his red and white vest stretching across his chest, straining the buttons. They were in his room at the saloon, the sounds of people and the mechanical piano loud beneath them. It was late in the afternoon, the business picking up. Getting close to the holidays, a time when everyone was a little more edgy than usual. A little more festive but also a little more frantic.

 

“You are going to be off with Mr. Tanner for several days, in the wild, alone, looking for a large cat.” Ezra's words were clipped and short, as if he were reading a report.

 

Chris frowned. “Yes, that's it. Going to get the cat.”

 

Ezra's jaw clenched and he looked past Chris, as if Chris were already gone.

 

Dammit.

 

Chris sighed, wondering if it was always going to be this way – and knowing that it was. Because Ezra not only didn't understand, he couldn't understand.

 

“He's my friend, Ezra. Nothing less – nothing more.” The very idea that he was having to explain this – having to justify his actions – burned in his belly like bile.

 

Maybe Ezra knew that, for his voice was softer as he said, “I know, I know. I don't mean anything by it. I just . . .” He sighed, a soft sound that made changed the burn of irritation to one of guilt.

 

Chris leaned forward in the chair, reaching out to drop one hand on Ezra's leg. “You just don't understand what it means to have a friend. I understand that, Ezra, I do.”

 

Ezra closed his eyes. “You are my friend,” he said softly. “Aren't you?”

 

Chris smiled. “Yes, I am your friend. But we are . . . different kinds of friends. In fact, I ain't friends with no one else the way I am with you. Not Vin, not Buck – no one.”

 

The lines of Ezra's forehead eased a little and his jaw relaxed. After a time, he nodded, once, and opened his eyes. “When will you leave?”

 

Chris sat back in the chair, reaching for the bottle of whiskey they were sharing. He poured a little more in his glass then held it out toward Ezra. As he poured a measure for the other man, he said, “Tomorrow morning. Early. Vin wants to get out before dawn if we can, see if he can catch the cat at the watering hole he thinks the cat's using.”

 

“Of course he does,” Ezra said with a sigh. “So I suppose that means you won't be staying the night.” He didn't look at Chris, his gaze falling to the amber liquid in his glass.

 

Chris grinned, amused by Ezra's insecurities. This was the other thing that had come to make his life worth living. Annoying Ezra.

 

Well, perhaps it wasn't the annoying so much as what happened after the annoying. “Figured you'd be playing cards – seems there are a lot of newcomers in town as of late, what with the miners around. Don't they get paid today?”

 

Ezra stiffened and looked up at Chris. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. Chris looked down into his own glass, mostly to hide the grin that was threatening to settle on his lips. He knew the miners got paid today – Ezra had mentioned it at least three times in the past five days, looking to tonight to break the dry spell that he'd been suffering not-so-silently for a – well, at least the past five days.

 

Chris knew, too, that Ezra was now caught in a quandary. He'd wanted to spend the night with Chris. But the lure of easy money . . .

 

The thought caught him then, a niggle in the back of his mind that grew into a ball and rolled around in his head for a time. Eventually, he looked up and said, “Guess you prefer your cards to me, huh. Maybe it is best I get on -”

 

“I most certainly do not,” Ezra said, cutting him off. He stood, swirling his whiskey in its fine crystal glass and he across the room and out one of the windows. It was still light out, though the sun was in decline, behind the buildings across the street. A faint breeze moved the curtains, just enough to brush the floor and stir up little puffs of dust and fine desert sand. Ezra took several steps forward, which brought him up against the bed. He stood there, still swirling his whiskey and looking out the window.

 

“You're trying to teach me, aren't you. Trying to make me see that your . . . feelings for Mr. Tanner are akin to my own feelings about my time in the saloon.”

 

Chris did allow himself to grin – Ezra was still turned away from him. “Always said you were sharp.”

 

Ezra's back straightened, which presented a pretty nice view, as his ass also tightened up, curving under the pants that hugged him so well. Chris liked these pants – black and sleek, a fine blend of cotton and linen that stretched just enough.

 

“I do not think that your time with Mr. Tanner is the equivalent of my time at the tables. I do not do it for pleasure; I do it for the money.”

 

As a rule, Ezra was not given to predictability; it was, perhaps, the factor that made him most attractive to Chris.

 

But when it came to his insecurities – when it came to Vin, and many times Buck – Ezra was like a caged bird.

 

So Chris was prepared for this. “Horseshit,” he said, leaning back and resting his head against the wall. The angle made it easier to watch Ezra. All the way down to his pants. “You love what you do in the saloon – I've seen it. You love the challenge, the unpredictability – the possibility that at any point in time, things could go bad. Hell, Ezra, what you get out of that ain't nothing like what I get from Vin.

Vin is the calmest, most stable person I know. In many ways – probably because he and I think so much alike, he's so damned predictable that he's almost boring.”

 

The idea of it, what he had just said, made him smile. To most people, Vin was a wild card. But then, to most people, Chris knew that he himself was a wild card.

 

To Ezra, both of them were akin to dynamite. Because he didn't understand the choices they had made, the lives they had lived.

 

Which was why he was far more amused then surprised when Ezra swiveled on the heel of one shoe, stopping sharply to face him, and threw the remainder of his whiskey in Chris' face.

 

It wasn't much, enough to wet him, to sting his eyes and his lips, and to splatter on his shirt.

 

The words that came with them were more biting – or would have been if Chris hadn't known Ezra so well. “How dare you compare what I do in the saloon – which is my chief employment, my means of supporting myself – to what you and Mr. Tanner do when you go roaming about the countryside. The two of you may consider that you are working – and perhaps you are. But your time with him is not the same as my time with strangers who would take my earnings from me, who might at any time decide to draw a gun or a knife and assault me in a quest to get my money.”

 

Whiskey trickled down Chris' nose, and he almost reached to wipe it off. But he caught himself, not wanting to give Ezra the satisfaction. Not yet.

 

Instead, he tilted his head and squinted, looking up at the other man. “So you don't enjoy what you do.”

 

Ezra squared his shoulders, his eyes bright with anger and retribution. “It is a job, sir, as much a job as this – this – this task of protecting this God-forsaken town – a task for which we are woefully underpaid. You and Mr. Tanner might find the quest to find dangerous cats covered by this pittance – though I suspect that you both find no small amount of challenge and thrill in the hunt. Perhaps that is your compensation.”

 

Chris waited, sitting as still as he could. The smell of whiskey was strong, and it tickled as it drifted down his throat and chest, but he did not move.

 

“But I assure you, I find no thrill in what I do. It is neither boring nor thrilling, none of the things that you find with Mr. Tanner.” He glared down at Chris, his empty glass clutched so tightly in his hand that Chris thought it might shatter.

 

Chris drew a deep breath, then, slowly brought his own glass to his lips, taking a sip. It was a good whiskey, as Ezra would have in his private quarters. All the while, he held Ezra' gaze, thinking that maybe he had pushed this one too far.

 

It didn't help that he was getting annoyed himself.

 

He waited until he had swallowed, then he said, “Which one of us are you lying to, Ezra? Me or yourself?”

 

Ezra arched one eyebrow and his upper lip curved in a sneer. “I ask the same of you.”

 

Chris sighed and put his glass on the table. With care, he rose to his feet. “Go to work, then, Ezra. I hope it's not as tedious as you say it is.”

 

He turned, reaching to pick up his hat and duster which were on a peg behind the door. As he slipped into the coat, he heard Ezra sigh behind him. But the words didn't come until Chris' hands were on the doorknob and key, turning the lock. “Wait.”

 

Chris left the key in place, but he didn't straighten or look back. It was up to Ezra.

 

“I should not have done that,” he said after a time, his voice low and tired.

 

Chris still did not turn, but he straightened. He didn't say anything still, waiting for Ezra to go on.

 

“You are right, of course. I do love the challenge of it, the game. Just as I – well, just as I – just as . . .” His words faded away but not before Chris heard the little catch at the end of the last one. Despite himself, he did turn, and he saw Ezra's head lowered, one hand up and a finger wiping at an eye.

 

“Just as what?” he asked softly, curious as to what had made Ezra run out of words. That was not like him at all.

 

Ezra shook his head, his hand dropping away. He slowly looked up, then turned to look at Chris. His eyes were red – perhaps he had picked up some of the sand from the curtain clouds, but his chin was set and his lips drawn into a straight line.

 

He moved quickly, and Chris realized he still held the empty glass in his hand and without a conscious thought, Chris reached into his coat, his fingers finding his gun – just as he realized what he was doing.

 

As he hesitated, Ezra came in close, his body touching Chris' but not hitting him, the glass not coming down on his head.

 

It did come down on his toe, a solid impact that made Chris moan, but by that point in time, Ezra's arms were wrapped around his neck, Ezra's forehead had knocked Chris' hat off his head, and Ezra's tongue was so far down Chris' throat that he could barely breathe.

 

He reached out, bringing his arms around Ezra. It was partly the reaction to having Ezra this close – and in a private place – but it was also necessary to keep his balance as Ezra did push against him enough to overbalance.

 

The tongue in his mouth though – warm, wet, tasting of whiskey and Ezra . . .

 

He forgot about the pain in his foot, forgot about the problem between them, forgot about meeting Vin in the morning -

 

Forgot everything but the desire that came with this contact with Ezra, forgot everything except how much he wanted to be on the bed with Ezra, in the bed with Ezra, to be naked and against him –

 

Then he was falling, but Ezra was still in his arms, and he was still holding on to Ezra –

 

Later, when reason came back, he was warm and sated, sore, but in a way that made him feel good. The room was dark, moonlight slipping through the windows and lighting the foot of the bed. Ezra's pale skin, the arm on top of the bedspread, the line of his nose and one cheek, caught the reflection of the moon, and Chris thought of the pictures he had seen in books and magazines of the Greek and Roman statues.

 

“You're staring,” Ezra said, his voice sleepy and his eyes still closed.

 

Chris grinned, turning a little – as much as he could in the tangle of their limbs – and resting his head against Ezra's. “Reckon you missed a lot of money tonight. Reckon I owe you.”

 

Ezra made a sound that was something like a snort. “The night is still young – well, more or less. Given your plan for the morning, I thought I would slip away while you were asleep.”

 

Chris rolled enough to get his left leg over Ezra's legs, pinning him. He tilted his head so that his lips brushed against Ezra's ear – which he knew to be a distraction. “Don't let me keep you,” he murmured, letting his tongue just barely touch the rim. “Boring as that may be.”

 

Ezra drew a long, slow breath, and when he spoke, his words were faint and slow, as if he were having

to force himself to think about them. “Upon reconsideration, it has come to my attention that you, too, suffer from boredom, though you are working for the betterment of us all. I should hate for you to find yourself sitting long hours in the saddle while Mr. Tanner climbs on and off his horse, slowly, very slowly, tracking this cat. I should want you to at least have something to think about to alleviate the monotony.”

 

Chris almost laughed. Almost.

 

Instead, he whispered, “Maybe you're right. Maybe best if we just distract ourselves here, so we have something to think about tomorrow.”

 

Ezra's chuckle thrummed through him, tickling and warm. “I am sorry, you know,” he said. “I did not mean to waste all that whiskey when I threw it on you.”

 

Chris laughed, almost surprised – but not. “Good thing I'm still here so you can lick it off,” he said. “Hate for it be washed away in all the sweating I'll be doing in the morning.”

 

“Indeed,” Ezra agreed, turning into Chris' neck. “It is fine whiskey.” He leaned close, letting his tongue tease along the side of Chris' neck. His hands were wandering lower, in a far more distracting way. “I doubt you will find such quality with Mr. Tanner.”

 

Chris drew a deep breath, pulling Ezra close. “He's not you, Ezra.” He wanted to say more, but those talented fingers teased along a place that made it impossible to think.

 

Vaguely, he was aware that Ezra responded, the words echoing distantly. “I know he's not. Just as the pleasures of the gambling table will never take the place of you.”

 

When he awoke before dawn, more sore and so tired he gave some serious thought to simply not getting out of bed, Chris remembered those words. And he knew that they were as much as promise as he could ever hope to get.

 

Just as he knew that his own words worked the same way.

 

He made his way carefully down the backstairs, not too surprised to find the light of the saloon's main room still lit and a table full of men playing cards – Ezra in the thick of it.

 

Two things, he thought. Two things that made getting out of bed every day worth it. It had taken him a long damned time to realize it. Buck, of course – though in some ways, he had made Chris resent the first one: friends. Friends who were there for you, even when you weren't there for yourself. Buck, who had stood by him, even when he had run away from it. And now, Vin, someone who helped him find his peace again.

 

This time of year, that seemed a little closer to home.

 

But also this: this person who made him crazy a lot of the time. This person who made him defend himself – made him think about himself.

 

And this person who he would stay with no matter what – if he thought Ezra would do the same for him.

 

He had thought, for a few seconds last night, that Ezra would say it. He had hoped he would. That was why he hadn't drawn his gun when the whiskey had hit his face – God knows he had done that enough in the past three years.

 

But he had let Ezra do it, thinking that it would lead to the words he wanted to hear.

 

Ezra looked over at that point, his eyes bright and sharp, picking Chris out of the shadows. As if he had known Chris was there.

 

Ezra nodded, and though he was talking to the men at the table, he lifted one hand to touch a finger to his forehead. As if to tip the hat that wasn't there.

 

Chris did touch the brim of his hat and he grinned.

 

Maybe the words didn't have to be said. He'd heard words this morning that were probably as close as he'd ever get to the ones he wanted.

 

And more important than hearing the words was the fact that Ezra would be here when he got back – probably sitting at that same damned table, maybe even with the same damned men.

 

If Chris and Vin were lucky and they got the cat today.

 

He picked up his pace, ready, already, to be back.

 


End file.
